


Like A House On Fire

by coveredinfeels



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age: Inquisition Multiplayer, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 16:55:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10222904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredinfeels/pseuds/coveredinfeels
Summary: So a Templar, a Reaver, and an Alchemist walk into a bar...Actually, that part comes later. To start with: a Templar, a Reaver, and an Alchemist are assigned to work together for the good of the Inquisition, and Tamar can't for the life of her work out why anybody would think this is a good idea.Whatever. It's not like she's looking to make friends here, after all.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Christophertherobin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Christophertherobin/gifts).



> sweet Maker the house is actually on fire Luka what did you do?

The Templar. The _Templar_.

Tamar doesn't even want to be 'part of a team'; she has always done best on her own, out in the wilderness with her blade and her truth to guard her. Apparently, however, this is a condition of her service, one she has grudgingly accepted. Of all the people she could be asked to team up with, though, they've put her with a Templar. Are they idiots? Also, there's some dwarf, but Tamar doesn't have anything against dwarves, in particular.

The Templar is young and optimistic. The former is a curable disease; the latter is what really grates.

The dwarf is an alchemist, and rather mad; the former is probably the cause of the latter. The fumes and all.

It doesn't really matter, in the end. She will fight, and she will live, and she will be free. Whatever ill-suited companions the Inquisition see fit to saddle her with, that will not change.

* * *

Belinda: So you're self-taught?  
Luka: Mostly. The nugs helped.  
Belinda: … ?  
Luka: Oh, they don't know anything about alchemy, but they're _great_ listeners.

* * *

Ser Belinda Darrow is incredulous that anybody would willingly drink the blood of a dragon.

A rather typically narrow-minded view, from a Chantry infant who willingly consumes _lyrium_ , but when challenged on it she does not back down. An argument is a poor substitute for a battle, but until they get the signal to move in on the Venatori, it will have to do.

Honestly, Tamar does not remember ever being so young, and even if she was, she's quite sure she was never this foolish.

“I drank mushrooms once.” Luka chirps into a empty moment between the two of them. “A lot of things turn into liquids if you wait long enough.”

For a moment, it looks like the Templar is planning to try and make some sort of ill-advised sympathetic remark, but a signal fire on the horizon thankfully intervenes.

Time to kill the enemy. In this, at least, they can be in agreement.

* * *

Tamar: You said you wanted to live.  
Luka: Oh, so much.  
Tamar: Your fighting style says otherwise.  
Luka: And yet, so far, 100% success rate!

* * *

They don't tend to send Tamar out with the mages; apparently she frightens them, just because she has killed many of their number in the past and will happily do so again in the future. This is hardly a fact limited to mages, so she doesn't see why they're being so precious about it.

They don't tend to send Belinda out with the mages, for similar reasons; ridiculous, being afraid of a pup because a wolf could tear your throat out, but there you have it.

They don't tend to send Luka out with anyone at all, because she is a walking disaster and unattended she sets things on fire, and at least if there are no allies around it increases the chance that the thing on fire will be an enemy.

Tamar still hates them both, but she has to admit that they work reasonably well together. Belinda takes on the job of babysitting Luka, in and out of battle, and while the enemy is distracted by trying to get past her shield to reach the source of all the poison gas and fires, Tamar doesn't have to bother with holding back.

Tamar really isn't one for holding back.

* * *

Luka: Do you ever get the feeling that everything in the world is trying to kill you?  
Tamar: All the time.  
Luka: Not just me? Oh. Good.  
Belinda: You're a member of the Inquisition now. We'll protect you.  
Tamar: What you are saying is, if we die, we all die together? Not all that comforting.  
Luka: It's a _little_ comforting.

* * *

Whenever the conversation gets too close to matters of Luka's past, she throws off some comment about glowing lichen or talking to nugs. _Look!_ this says, _a mad dwarf! Ask no further questions._

On these days, Belinda takes to sitting close to Luka by the fire, when they're in camp, and Luka sometimes leans into her to fall asleep, or at least pretend to, as Tamar can usually see her taking a moment to check her surroundings every now and again. “One of the senior Templars said,” Belinda says quietly, when Tamar's eyes are on them one night, “that mages in solitary confinement often went a little mad. He said touch helped.”

Tamar spent years on her own, only seeing or speaking to or touching people she was trying to kill, and it never did her one whit of harm. The blood in her veins is that of a solitary creature. She's got no reason to want to be on the other side of the fire. “He was probably fucking them,” she says, instead, to see the Chantry infant splutter as she always does.

“I'm not-- _taking advantage_ \--” she burbles, like a predictable little brook. Too easy.

Luka shifts slightly, mutters “Put on my good smalls for nothing” and goes back to feigning sleep.

* * *

Luka: I suppose I should be mad at Hawke, but also she has really nice arms, so...  
Belinda: Did the Champion do something to wrong you?  
Tamar: It's sort of endearing the way you have your hand on your sword right now. Didn't we agree we were going to try and not die?  
Luka: Like being mad at a storm that's on fire, anyway. Also, arms.  
Belinda: Yes. You _said_.

* * *

They win, in the end.

Tamar celebrates victory and freedom by getting drunk, challenging one qunari to a fight and having an argument with another about dragons.

She's making her way back to find more to drink when she sees Luka watching Belinda have a conversation with Seeker Penteghast. Well, she's staring slack-jawed in awe at Seeker Penteghast while being talked at, but for Belinda that counts as progress.

Tamar doesn't get it. Honestly if she had to pick a side of the Seeker to stare at, the rear view would definitely be it. But there the infant is, staring at the Seeker, and there the mad little walking disaster is, staring at the infant, and honestly they're both so bad at this that Tamar needs to intervene out of sheer _pity_.

She grabs Luka by the least grubby bit of her collar and hauls her aside. “Are you planning something unwise?”

To her credit, Luka doesn't attempt to claim innocence. “If I soak my clothes in the right alchemical fluid, I could have them all burn off me at once, leaving me stark naked. That would make a statement, right?”

“ _Help, I need medical attention?_ ”

“The mix _is_ a little delicate,” Luka admits. “I didn't really want to burn my good smalls, either.”

“You have _one_ pair of smalls, stop calling them that. Take her cake. _Don't_ make it yourself, ask the kitchens.” Tamar looks over to where Belinda is still standing all awkward at the Seeker noticing she exists. “You're going to need to draw her some sort of map to your clitoris, you know. Best of luck.”

“The Inquisitor's mercenary friends are throwing a celebratory wrestling match by the stables.” Luka says, in response.

Yeah, she could wrestle a few more qunari today. Maybe wrestle one right into bed, if she's lucky. “Noted. Go. Deflower.”

* * *

Luka: Um, roses are red, violets are blue, I know these are yellow, they don't actually bloom at this time of year, I had to add a thing--  
Belinda: They're beautiful, Luka. Thank you.  
Luka: Also, cake! The cake is pink, because apparently _that's_ a thing. And this map.  
Belinda: You don't need to give me all of-- _Maker's breath!_  
Luka: It's to scale!  
Belinda: Could we maybe talk about this in private, Luka?  
Tamar: Please do, I'm trying to enjoy my drink here.

* * *

Belinda finds her on the ramparts. “I hear you're leaving.”

Tamar doesn't bother to turn around. “I am free to.”

“I wanted to say thank you.”

“Please don't.” Tamar responds, hurriedly. “I do not want thanks, or any details, or to even consider the logistics.” They're probably in _love_. Ghastly.

Improbably, Belinda manages to straighten her spine even further. “Seeker Pentaghast is planning to rebuild her order. She said she would consider me. As a recruit.”

“So you finally asked. Congratulations on your new spine.”

“She said Luka could come along, and Luka said-- well, it boils down to she's in favour of truth, and happy to blow things up for that cause, so--” Belinda heaves a giant breath, as if what she's about to say isn't obvious. “So we're leaving in the morning. A mission.”

“Some honeymoon.” Tamar mutters. “I suppose, all things considered, you're not the worst person I've met in all of this. You actually believe the nonsense you spout, so at least you're no hypocrite.”

“I think of you as a friend, too.” Belinda says. “Don't leave without saying goodbye to Luka, okay?”

She's smiling. It is not in the least bit charming. “I take it back,” Tamar says. “You are the worst.”

* * *

Luka: Here. If you get in trouble, throw one of these in one direction, run in the exact opposite direction. Don't mix those instructions up. That would be bad.  
Tamar: I don't need assistance. I've fought many battles on my own, and survived.  
Luka: Good! Keep doing that. I don't have so many friends that I can afford to lose them, you know.

* * *

It is an invitation.

She thinks, anyway, because the second the light hits the ink the entire thing bursts into flame, but sadly not quick enough for her to ignore the words _you are cordially invited to_ , undoubtedly Belinda's wording but in Luka's terrible scrawl, and, she can only presume, Luka's formulation of said ink.

“Some of them have been doing that.” the messenger says, not looking particularly disturbed. “Don't worry, Seeker Belinda asked me to memorise all the information, just in case. She said it's very important you attend, don't even think about skipping out, you'll disappoint Luka.”

She will pretend that last isn't a factor, when she agrees. How hateful that the infant thinks she knows Tamar. How hateful that she is even the tiniest bit right. “How did you even find me?” Tamar asks, which is a pertinent question, what with them being half up a mountain, and not a particularly hospitable one, either.

“I'm the best scout in the Inquisition.” the messenger answers, tilting her chin up proudly. “Scout Harding, at your service.”

Well, at least she'll have something nice to look at on her way. Not that she needs companionship. Tamar, alone in the wilderness, with her blade and her truth. Nothing has changed. Nothing needs to.

She might as well go, though. Luka is involved, so there may be some mild amusement to be had. Things will be on fire. Hopefully not the drinks.

(The drinks do turn out to be on fire; the two of them are in love, and it is ghastly; Tamar might grudgingly admit she has a good time, all the same).


End file.
